


Dark Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Trainwrecks

by DangerousCommieSubversive, fatallywhimsical



Category: Dark Avengers (Comic)
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Humor, Shorts, Team Dynamics, Victoria Hand is having none of your shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatallywhimsical/pseuds/fatallywhimsical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to Avengers Tower, where everything's improvised and sanity doesn't matter! Until Bob throws someone into the sun, that is.</p><p>A series of shorts about daily life with the Dark Avengers--everyone's favourite desperately dysfunctional, violent, sex-obsessed family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Name Is Victoria Hand, And I Hate My Job

**Author's Note:**

> First: Victoria Hand introduces us to the team!

She doesn't even want to know what happened to the couch. She's never wanted to know about something _less,_ in fact. She doesn't want an explanation for the stains, or the ripped armrest, or the suspicious lump inside one of the cushions. She's not even _vaguely_ curious about the guilty look on Mac's face, or the fact that Lester won't meet anyone's eyes.

She _doesn't want to know._

But she's Victoria Hand, Deputy Director of H.A.M.M.E.R., and it's her job to ask.

So she asks.

“Mr. Gargan. What happened to the couch?”

He doesn't look at her. “Nothin'.”

She sighs. “Clearly _something_ happened to the couch. It's barely in one piece. What's that stain?”

“How should _I_ know? Ask Lester.”

“ _Lester_ told me I should ask _you._ ”

“That little _shit._ ”

“What happened to the couch, Mr. Gargan?”

“Fucked if I know.”

“Mr. Gargan, I have in my pocket a fifteen-decibel airhorn. What happened to the couch?”

“Look,” he says, “There was an accident.”

So, as she waits for his explanation, she thinks to herself: _Victoria Hand, this is your life. You are the deputy director of H.A.M.M.E.R., a very dangerous woman with your hand on the throat of a major world superpower. You work under the direct supervision of Norman Osborne, the world's most powerful man. You know his business, give his orders, and are the primary liaison to his team of Avengers—Earth's mightiest heroes._

_You are basically a glorified babysitter._

The ostensible leader of the Avengers is Norman Osborne, as Iron Patriot, proud defender of the American way. He does all the television appearances, gets all the interviews, and makes all the headlines. Everyone in America knows his name.

He's not the real leader. The real leader of the team is Victoria Hand, who writes the checks, hires the staff, calls Damage Control, and makes sure everyone takes their meds on time.

Norman is _intelligent,_ but he isn't well. He only _thinks_ he's got everything under control, but that's because he's never looking in the mirror when someone mentions Spider-Man. _He_ doesn't see how his own eyes light up, doesn't feel himself gritting his teeth, doesn't notice that he's clenched his hand behind his back. He's _not a well man._ He hasn't got a _clue._

Victoria Hand has that clue.

Then they've got Spider-Man, the darling of New York City, except that instead of _whoever_ the hell Spider-Man is, the man in the suit is Mac Gargan. Mac's tolerable most days, he takes his pills and basks in the admiration of the crowd and doesn't make too much fuss, but he's also the host for a slavering alien monster who wants nothing more than to cover the world in its kin and to kill Spider-Man. And he _eats_ people.

Victoria Hand never saw the appeal of Spider-Man in the first place.

Hawkeye is another classic Avenger. People love Hawkeye, they love his colorful costume, they love that he shoots arrows, that he's friendly. Except that Clint Barton wouldn't have anything to do with this mess, so instead Osborne decided to recruit _Bullseye,_ Lester Last-Name-Unknown, who kills people for fun and can't _look_ at a woman without suggesting something obscene.

Victoria Hand doesn't let him talk on missions.

Ms. Marvel is always a crowd-pleaser, but Karla Sofen used to be Moonstone. She's polite enough, she's serious and sensible, but she's also a _sociopath,_ or something else like that. She's Hannibal Lecter in an underwired leotard, and the prescriptions she writes are _very_ suspicious.

Victoria Hand...actually kind of likes her.

They _had_ a Captain Marvel for a while, and he was sort of sweet in a weird, ill-tempered, sassy way, but Karla scared him away. Ares is Ares, he's big and loud and angry and he likes to hit things, but he's fairly easy to work with as long as you don't let him get too upset. There's the Sentry, and Bob is...worrying, in ways that Victoria doesn't like to think about.

And then there's Wolverine.

Daken Akihiro.

Who smirks and jokes and smells _very_ good and kills without remorse or even much forethought. They have footage of him shredding a goose in the park when it hissed at him after a mission. He asked if she wanted to get dinner with him, one of his first evenings in the Tower, and seemed sort of vaguely surprised when she said no.

Victoria Hand, for those of you keeping track, prefers women.

And, she thinks to herself as Mac finishes explaining what happened to the couch, the really big thing?

Victoria Hand needs a raise.


	2. Addiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Daken has a sweet tooth and Lester can’t get laid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word from Commie:
> 
> "A word of explanation: I have this headcanon that Daken's got a massive sweet tooth, he's always eating chocolate and candy and fruit and other sweet foods. It's sort of an anime thing--when an anime character likes sweets and soda, it means that they're immature, and Daken is, at his heart, desperately immature.
> 
> So Zee and I started talking about that and it kind of got out of hand."

There had to be an intervention, Victoria decided. Things were getting out of hand, what with the swiftly and mysteriously disappearing baked goods from the kitchen, disturbingly large amounts of sweets wrappers being found in the strangest places, and sometimes—not often, but sometimes—an unknown sticky substance coating doorknobs and other surfaces that was only discovered once you had _touched_ it. At first, Victoria assumed it had to be bodily fluids of some sort, considering the nature of those she worked with, but she was relieved and slightly less-disgusted when she realized the unknown substance was in fact syrup.

This was why she now had the group known as the Avengers gathered in one room—not the usual room where missions were discussed, but a more comfortable, casual setting with couches and overstuffed armchairs. This was a delicate situation, after all, and most if not all of the team’s members were a bit unstable, so it was important they felt at ease. They lounged upon the assortment of furniture, which had been haphazardly arranged in a semi-circle, all of them with various expressions of boredom and irritation displayed quite clearly. None of them wanted to be here and Victoria knew this, but if they were to overcome their problems as a team, she would need each of them to cooperate.

Victoria pulled a small folding chair into the gap of the semi-circle and sat down, clearing her throat. “I’m sure we all know why we’re here today—“

“Uh, not really,” Mac interrupted.

“I have no idea,” Karla agreed.

“Yeah… nope,” Lester added. They all looked around to see if anyone had a clue as to why they were there, and it was obvious that none of them did.

Victoria allowed herself an exasperated sigh, “Do any of you actually _read_ the memos?”

Silence. No one would meet her eyes. She frowned.

“Alright,” she continued slowly. “We’re here because of you, Daken.” She turned slightly so she could face him, trying to make what she hoped was non-threatening eye-contact. Daken looked harmless enough, sitting there in his designer-label clothes, but then, he tended to flip out and kill people in fits of rage for reasons that were not always apparent to others.

Daken, who had been sitting with his arms crossed and looking mildly disinterested, suddenly sat up a bit straighter as his eyes widened and then narrowed. He cocked his head slightly and said, “I’m sorry, did I mishear you?”

“No.” Victoria attempted to choose her words very carefully, “You… You have a problem, I’m afraid.”

Daken looked genuinely confused. He had a lot of problems—some he was aware of and some he was not, but he had to wonder what exactly could be so offensive that it would actually affect the team. He had been under the impression that anything he did was his own business, so long as he wasn’t wearing that hideous Wolverine costume while he did it.

“What have _I_ done?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, it has become apparent to everyone in this room, as well as many outside of it, that you seem to be addicted to, er, sugar.”

“What?! That isn’t true!”

“I don’t know, man, you do eat _a lot_ of candy,” Lester broke in, trying to appear that he was being helpful—but Daken knew better and shot him the dirtiest look he could muster.

“ _Nobody asked you._ ” He turned back to Victoria. “And how are we even talking about this? I mean… _Mac eats people!”_

“This isn’t about Mac, Daken,” Victoria said gently, “This is about you.”

Mac snickered under his breath.

Daken’s eyes flit from side to side—this wasn’t going the way he had planned at all. “I don’t even eat that much candy!” he snarled, jumping to his feet. Victoria tried to remain calm; she had dealt with him like this before, but she certainly didn’t enjoy it.

“Daken,” she said, trying to sound firm but soothing at the same time (she suspected she was failing), “We are not through here.”

“Oh, I think we are,” he growled, pushing his bone-claws out.

 _Not again_ , Victoria thought, instinctively diving under a table. She had suspected something like this might happen.

“Oh, shit!” Lester swore, going for his bow, which, unfortunately he did not have. None of them had been allowed weapons in the Special Fruity Feelings Sharing Room, which he took a little more personally than he probably should have. Upon realizing he was basically helpless, he swore again. “Do something, asshole!” he yelled, jabbing Mac in the side.

“Oh, right.” Mac attempted to tackle and pin Daken, but that little shit was surprisingly fast. He made another attempt, this time succeeding, but it also occurred to him that this would only be a very short-term solution and one of these other jerks had better help him pretty damn fast.

Thankfully, Ares had grown tired of Daken’s shenanigans and stomped over to pluck him from Mac’s grip. He held Daken by the scruff of his neck, or rather, his shirt collar, at arm’s length away and slightly above the floor. Daken struggled rather weakly, looking like a defeated kitten, but he wasn’t about to try to fight the God of War. “If you insist on acting like a child, you will be treated as such.” It was a phrase he learned in one of those parenting books he had read, but it seemed applicable in this situation.

Victoria crawled out from under the table, smoothing her hair down a bit. “Thank you, Ares.”

“Hey,” Mac whined, “I helped too.”

Victoria gave him a look that let him know she was beyond her tolerance level for bullshit, and he shuffled away awkwardly. She decided it might be best to keep Daken in his room for the evening, so he could think about what he’d done, and perhaps detox a little since he was probably all hopped up on sugar at this very moment.

Daken was safely locked away and the broken furniture had mostly been cleaned up (“How do they manage to break everything they touch?!” Victoria wondered, not for the first time) when Karla spoke up. “Hey, did anyone think to check his room for sweets?”

Victoria’s eyes widened as she realized her terrible mistake. She recruited Mac to use as sweets-detector, Ares to restrain Daken in case he became belligerent again (and it was likely he would), and Lester in case they needed backup. Lester was ecstatic at the prospect of getting to shoot Daken, his eyes shining with malicious glee.

They arrived at the door to Daken’s room and knocked. There was no answer.

“Daken?” Victoria called.

A faint reply came from within. “Go away, I’m… masturbating…”

Victoria sighed. “Well, make yourself decent, because I’m coming in.”

She used a key to let herself in, only to discover that Daken was not pleasuring himself, but in the process of trying to escape out the window. Where did he think he would go? It was a sheer drop of at least fifty stories, but perhaps he really was that desperate.

“Quick, somebody grab him!”

Daken swore under his breath in Japanese as he was unceremoniously hauled back in through the window by Ares, who was obviously making no attempt at being gentle. They could see now that there was chocolate smeared around his mouth.

Mac set to work attempting to find any sweets that might have been hidden, but it appeared that Daken had gotten rid of them before his failed escape, judging by the obscene amount of wrappers littering the floor.

Ares dropped Daken on his bed before removing the door from the wall; he didn’t bother to take it off the hinges, he just sort of ripped it off. If they were going to have to watch him constantly, it would be easier this way. Victoria instructed Lester to stand guard.

“So you’re sayin’ I get to shoot him if he tries to bolt?”

“Yes, Lester. You can shoot him.” Victoria turned her head before rolling her eyes, then walked away with her other two enforcers.

“Just you and me now, pretty boy,” Lester sneered, a malevolent gleam in his eye and he turned one of his cards between his fingers.

“Oh Lester, you really think I’m pretty?” Daken purred, moving to lightly touch Lester’s wrist.

“What? I—No, uh—! Oh my god, why are you touching me?” Lester jerked his arm away, but Daken moved his hand to softly caress Lester’s chest. “I said, don’t fuckin’ _touch_ me, faggot!”

“ _Lester_. I’m wounded.”

“I’ll fuckin’ wound you, I’ve got permission and everything!”

“Well, if you have to wait for _permission_ , you’re not half the man I thought you were.”

“The fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You don’t have to wait out here, you know. You can always… _come inside_.”

“Uh… This is some kinda trick, ain’t it?”

“What reason could I possibly have for tricking you? Can’t we just enjoy each other’s company?” Daken smiled, peering up at Lester from under long, dark eyelashes. This and a dash of pheromones were all it usually took to make most guys cream their pants. Lester was his. Daken could smell his arousal.

“You’re just… usin’ me to get candy or somethin’… I know it.” Lester was sweating now, breathing a bit heavily.

Daken trailed his hand down, resting it on Lester’s thigh. “Would you like me to use you?” Lester gulped audibly and bit his lip, then Daken continued, “Or perhaps you’d like to use me… Would you like that, Lester? Is there something I can _do_ for you?” He worked his leg in between Lester’s, pressing his knee gently into Lester’s crotch.

Lester managed to choke out the words, “Yeah—yeah ok, make it quick,” as he glanced frantically from side to side, praying silently that no one was watching. Daken smiled once more and took Lester by the hand, leading him into his room, before stopping rather abruptly.

“Oh, Lester, there’s just one thing I hoped you could do for me… Just a small favor, really.”

Lester grunted, wondering why his dick wasn’t halfway down Daken’s throat at this moment, but he was prepared to do anything to get it there.

Daken pressed himself against Lester, grinding down on him mercilessly, and whispered, “Will you bring me a milkshake?”

“A… wha—“

“A milkshake. Strawberry,” Daken snapped, but immediately resumed his seductive purr. “Make it quick, and your reward shall be great.”

“A milkshake. Yeah. I can do that.” Lester wandered down the hallway, but Daken had to stop him.

“Lester,” he called. Lester looked back. “The elevators would be _that way_ ,” he stated, pointing in the other direction. Lester obediently turned around and ambled off in the correct direction.

Daken sighed and flopped down on his bed, wondering if he would ever actually see Lester again or if he would stumble into an open manhole in his pheromone-addled stupidity.

—-

Somehow, Lester did manage to make it back in one piece, _with_ a milkshake, although he’d gotten vanilla. He made his way down the hall, glancing from side to side as he went. No one could know that he’d just gone out to buy a milkshake in exchange for sexual favors.

He was outside Daken’s doorway (still sans door) when he heard a voice behind him.

“What have you got there, Lester?”

He turned, jumping a bit and almost spilling milkshake everywhere. It was Victoria Hand.

“I, uh—nothin’! I mean, I got this milkshake here, but, uh—“

“Oh, a milkshake? That’s nice. It is hot outside today, isn’t it?” Lester was sweating, but not from the heat. He knew that Victoria knew exactly what he was up to. “Hmm, you weren’t going into Daken’s room with that, were you?” Lester shook his head, looking terrified. “Because you know,” she continued, “He will probably try to take it from you. Probably injure you pretty severely in the process. You know, I better just take that, for safe-keeping.” She reached out and took the milkshake. Lester made no attempt at resisting; he seemed to be frozen to the spot. “Carry on, now. Back to whatever it was you were doing.” Lester came to terms with the sad realization that he probably wasn’t going to get a blowjob today, and began to slink away.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he muttered.

Daken had slithered up to the doorway, unnoticed until he spoke. “Oh, Victoria, you have my milkshake.”

“Your little tricks won’t work on me, Daken. I’m quite homosexual.” She backed slowly towards the opposite wall and leaned against it, then brought the milkshake’s straw to her lips. “Mmmm,” she smiled as she sipped.

Daken glared before disappearing into the shadows, presumably to sulk and reflect upon how incredibly unfair his life was.


	3. Daken the Magnificent Venom-Tamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people like donuts, but Mac really, REALLY likes donuts. And Daken is an asshole, but you probably already knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is based on an adorable [piece of fanart](http://squidbiscuit.tumblr.com/post/63621080433/theres-no-reason-for-this) by the wonderful [Squidbiscuit](http://squidbiscuit.tumblr.com/). -Zee

Daken attempted to suppress a yawn as he shuffled into the boardroom. Osborn had called another one of his ass’o’clock meetings, and he’d had a rather long night with a HA.M.M.E.R. employee or three, so naturally he was not in the best of moods.

Upon entering, he could sense his teammates were all equally thrilled to be there. Karla drank deeply from a mug of strong coffee and Mac tried desperately to keep from nodding off in his chair, though it was evident by the puddle of drool on his chest that it wasn’t working out in his favor.

As soon as Daken took his seat, he heard Lester bark from across the room, “Alright, which one of you fuckers ate all the donuts?!”

Mac snapped awake long enough to mutter, “Sorry, Bulls. Normie doesn’t feed me like he used to…” he trailed off again, apparently too sleepy to fear Lester’s wrath.

Daken was barely awake as he heard this, but decided to log this information away to be used at a later date. Just as Lester prepared to hurl a butter knife at his half-conscious teammate, they heard the door open, indicating Osborn’s arrival…

\---

Several days later, Lester sat on the couch watching a sports program, beer in one hand and the other hand shoved down the front of his pants, when Daken slithered through the doorway looking furtive and balancing a curious assortment of parcels.

“Whatcha got there, Princess? No servants to carry that shit for you, huh?” Lester sneered.

Daken had none of his usual sassy remarks or thinly veiled innuendos, he simply smiled pleasantly and hurried off to his room. This actually managed to irritate Lester more than anything Daken could have said to him, but he was mostly just confused. _Whatever_ , he thought, and went back to watching his game.

\---

Daken peaked out from behind his cracked bedroom door. When he was certain there was no one in sight, he slipped into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind him. He attempted to conceal as best he could a long stick with a piece of fishing line tied to it, as well as a box of donuts. Silently, he crept towards the kitchen where he knew his target would be waiting.

Sure enough, Mac was seated at the table, going through sleeve after sleeve of Oreos like a woodchipper. There was also a gallon of milk nearby, but no glass in sight.

Daken delicately tied a donut to the end of the fishing line, and prepared to cast it towards the table. Though he never fished recreationally and it he had rarely ever _needed_ to, the donut landed precisely where he had intended, right in Mac’s line of vision.

Mac stopped mid-sleeve as he sensed movement nearby. He looked up—Ah! A donut! Right there in front of him! He did not stop to consider where it might have come from, or whether it was really a good idea to eat something he found on the floor. Immediately, he flung the Oreos over his shoulder and dropped to the ground, almost cat-like, and began stalking toward the donut. He prepared to pounce, when suddenly, the donut moved on its own! Mac swore loudly and scrambled after the pastry, following it out of the kitchen, still crawling on all fours.

Still concentrating on his sugary, fried prey, he felt something heavy on his back. Without taking his eyes from the donut, he could tell it was Daken. That guy was into all sorts of weird shit, but at least he was wearing pants, so Mac wasn’t terribly bothered. The donut was now levitating in front of him, taunting him with its glistening, glazed decadence. He scampered after it, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and saliva dripping everywhere.

\---

Lester was still on the couch—his game was coming to an end and he was actually somewhat excited to see who was going to win. He’d drained several more beers since Daken had come prancing through the door earlier, though his hand was still firmly planted on his junk.

He heard a loud rumbling sound, as though perhaps a large animal was loose in the tower. He tried to ignore it but it kept getting closer until he had to look up. He could never have expected what he saw.

Mac in full Venom-mode galloped through the doorway, on all fours like an oversized St. Bernard, copious amounts of slobber and all. That in itself was not so shocking, but it was the fact that Daken was riding on his back, like some sort of horseman of the freakpocalypse. He seemed to be controlling where Mac went by use of a donut on a string. If Lester hadn’t been completely dumbfounded by this scene, he might have admitted it was clever.

It all happened so fast. Mac seemed to be concerned only with the donut in front of him as he paid no attention at all to where he was going. He took out an end table with a lamp, smashed into a wall knocking down a probably-expensive painting, and finally—

“NO! God dammit, Nooo!”

With a horrible crash, the TV lay in pieces covering half of the room. It only slowed Mac down momentarily, as he bounded out of the room with Daken still astride. He might have been laughing to himself.

Lester never found out who won the game. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy the story, please let us know!


End file.
